


"So we can see it's not my fault"

by JadeyKins



Series: Misery Needs Company [1]
Category: Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeyKins/pseuds/JadeyKins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1998. John's been gone too long on a hunt and Dean goes looking for him. His path crosses with a stranger in a gray greatcoat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"So we can see it's not my fault"

**Author's Note:**

> Had this posted on my LJ, too.
> 
> Spoilers for season 8 of SPN. The Torchwood series isn't mentioned besides Jack.

Dean knew better.

He really knew better than to leave the motel behind and chase after Dad. Especially when Dad had given strict orders to stay there and watch over Sammy. But Dad had been gone for a few days and he wasn’t picking up on the cellphone. Some new friend of Sam’s had invited him for a sleepover. So Dean had found himself alone in the motel room and okay, he worried. With nothing better to do, Dean had hotwired a pick-up truck and chased down the only lead he had on Dad.

Luckily for him, Dad had called and needed a few directions. Dean at least had a place to start his search and he promised himself that if he didn’t find a sign of Dad by morning, he’d head back to the motel and call Bobby. Maybe Bobby could find him if Dean couldn’t.

The strip club checked ids and claimed that it’d only allow people over the age of 21. Since he was only 19, Dean had grabbed one of his false ones and he flashed it to the bouncer. The bouncer checked it for a second before handing it back. Apparently the guy only cared if it said the right year. Good enough for Dean. He didn’t want to get spotted with a fake.

Going into a place and shouting, “I’m looking for my Dad,” would just get him kicked out. He’d made that mistake once in a bar about a year back. Everyone had gotten grumpy and Dean still hadn’t found his father. So this time Dean took a look around the joint. A dancer dominated the stage, men and a few women made up the audience, and no one looked like Dad. There was a chance he could show up to the strip club. Dean decided he’d take a seat and watch the show.

A waitress came by. Dean ordered a couple of drinks—jack and coke. They weren’t his first and he told himself he’d wait until it was out of his system before he went for a drive. He knew better than to get behind the wheel of a vehicle while intoxicated.

The show was good enough. Topless girls and trashy music didn’t change much from place to place. Eventually, Dean had to get up and use the restroom. On his way there, a waitress stopped him. She had a single shot on a tray and she handed it to him. “From one of the girls,” she cooed.

Dean grinned, a little goofy since he’d had two drinks too quick on too empty of a stomach, and downed the shot. It burned and tasted like cherry. Then he went into the restroom.

Something shifted by the time he finished up in there. Suddenly, he was unbearably horny. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the swing of breasts, or hell, he didn’t know, the beat of the freaking music. He just needed to feel someone against him. His eyes scanned the strip club. All the women were taken besides the staff and he still had enough common sense that he’d get tossed if he hit on the staff too hard. Besides, they were all working.

Dean didn’t normally go for guys. He’d experimented once in high school with a guy on a dare to impress a girl. As far as Dean was concerned, guys didn’t fall into the ‘fuckable’ category in his brain. He didn’t look at them much, didn’t try to judge whether they’d be good in the sack or not. Sure he’d had a few erotic images come to mind. Curiosity and nothing else.

Yet without any women around, Dean’s best choices were going to be men. So he scanned the crowd a second time and let his mind wander.

There. That guy in the blue coat. He seemed way out of place in the faux military uniform, but the guy pulled the look off. He sat in one of the big overstuffed chairs, the kind the dancers would give lap-dances to. Even better for Dean.

With confidence, Dean strode over to the man and straddled his lap. The stranger gave him a surprised look, but he didn’t shove Dean away. So Dean ran his hands through the man’s dark hair and pushed his head back. “Hello,” the man said. His voice sent a chill through Dean.

Dean chose not to answer with words. He put his mouth over the other man’s and kissed him. A few seconds in, the other man finally opened his mouth. Dean moaned and pressed closer, his arms circled the other man’s shoulders. While he explored the man’s mouth, the man’s hands roamed low and cupped his ass. Another moan escaped his lips.

And then suddenly someone yanked on the back of his leather jacket and Dean was hitting the floor. Hard. He bumped his head on a table too. The disorientation cost him a few seconds. Then he caught up to what was happening. 

Dad was whaling on the guy in the coat. He got in three solid hits before bouncers came and stopped him. 

“Dad!” Dean shouted as he got to his feet. The entire place had come to a standstill.

But Dad only barely registered that he was in the same room. John Winchester glared at the man in the blue coat and screamed at him, “Outside!”

“All right,” the man replied. “All right!”

The stress for the club dissipated as all three of them left under escort of the bouncers. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets in order to hide the growing boner. If the bouncer didn’t look so pissed, he would have hit on him. 

Damn it, the ache in his pants was getting bad.

\---  
John was still livid when they hit the cool night air. For a moment, he worried that he was going to be stopped by the bouncers even though they were outside the club, but one of them laid a hand on his shoulder and muttered, “Do what you gotta do.”

The bouncers stayed back by the entrance door. John slowly walked through the parking lot. Dean shuffled along behind him. Rocks from the gravel lot skittered away from their feet.

His son had been on this guy’s lap. Making out in plain sight of everyone. His son had been on a guy’s lap. His oldest. His first. Dean. Dean had been on a guy’s lap and kissing him like there was no tomorrow. 

John clenched his fist. The guy was twice Dean’s age at least. If they were that familiar, the guy must have been hanging around for a while. What had this man been doing with his son? What if it wasn't just Dean this guy had shown an interest in? What about Sam?

Anger got the best of John and he swung wild and strong at the stranger. He expected to land a decent surprise strike, but his fist sailed through the air. The stranger had ducked and countered the blow by putting John in a hold. That was too much contact for John’s mind—especially since John was pretty sure he could feel something hard while he thrashed and tried to knock the guy off.

“Calm down,” came the stranger’s clear and confident voice.

“Son of a bitch,” John snapped. “That’s my son.”

“I got that impression,” the stranger replied. He had to let John go at that point. The energy of containing the father’s rage was getting to be too much. “Just take a second here--”

John swung, and missed, again. Another attempted blow failed too. The stranger seized the opportunity and twisted John’s arm behind his back, making him face off into the parking lot.

“You want to tell me if that’s normal behavior for your kid?” the stranger demanded.

John looked up. Dean had gone around the side of the Impala. He had his back to the fight and if John didn’t know better, he swore Dean had his hand in his pants. Then he heard the barest moan in the stillness of the night.

“No,” John managed. He pulled himself out of the stranger’s grasp. He’d paled considerably. “We have to stop him.” He scrambled over to Dean with the stranger on his heels.

“Dean, stop,” John commanded. Years of orders, years of demands in that tone of voice at least got the boy to pause for a moment. Long enough for John to come around the Impala and grab his wrist. John pulled Dean’s hand from his pants, but Dean started to slip his other one in instead.

The stranger yanked and pulled the hand free and clear. Dean thrust into the air a couple of times and hissed, “Come on.” He batted his eyelashes up at the stranger and moaned, “Do me.”

“So we can see it’s not my fault,” the stranger pointed out.

John had a moment of rage. Before he opened his mouth, a better realization came to mind. “You’re not freaking out.”

“I’m not.”

“Kid jumps you, his father smacks you around, and you’re still stopping him from this,” John drawled. He ignored Dean’s pleas at the stranger to fuck him. “What do you know?”

The stranger sized John up. “You realize that if your kid masturbates, he’s going to die. I could ask you the same thing.”

“You’re a hunter.”

“Of sorts,” the man agreed. He nodded down at Dean who was trying to rub up against the man and failing because he couldn’t get his hips close enough. “I’ve got something that’ll prevent him.”

“Go for it.”

“I’ll have to touch him.”

John gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the idea, but it was better than letting Dean die. “Do it,” he repeated.

The stranger got into one of his coat pockets and withdrew something. John had barely registered the thing for what it was when the other man slid it onto Dean in a graceful motion. 

“Take it off,” Dean whimpered. “Take it off!”

Next the stranger pulled out a set of handcuffs. With John’s help, they secured Dean’s wrists behind his back.

“Oh come on!” Dean exclaimed.

“Quiet boy,” John growled.

“But Dad—”

John opened the door of the Impala and put Dean in the back seat. He left the door open so he could keep a better eye on Dean. Watching the stranger in his peripheral view, he demanded, “What do you know?”

“Your boy’s been drugged by an alien.”

John laughed. Tension fled while he did. “It ain’t an alien.” Dean was floundering around trying to get the cock ring off, but he couldn’t manage anything on the Impala’s leather seats. “It’s a succubus.”

“An alien succubus,” the man countered. “I watched this thing land.”

“That would explain a few things. She’s not hunting like a normal one.” John slammed his hand down on the roof of the car and shouted at Dean, “Knock it off!” The shout settled the boy for a couple seconds. Then he was squirming, but at least he wasn’t getting inappropriate with the back seat of the car anymore.

“Thanks, by the way,” the man said.

“For what?”

“The succubus’s venom was still in your son’s mouth. It, uh, was having an effect,” the stranger explained. “You hit me hard enough to cut my cheek. The blood diluted it out before I could fall under its sway.”

“So you weren’t ‘under its sway’ when you grabbed his ass?” John demanded.

The stranger pointed at the back seat, at Dean, and said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your son’s kinda hot.”

John squared his shoulders towards the man. “What kind of man goes around with bondage gear in his pocket and makes out with kids half his age?”

“In all fairness, he straddled me,” the stranger said. “As for the gear, well, I came prepared for an alien who drives others into sex. I needed the restraints, and it just saved your son’s life, so let’s not judge me too hastily.” He took in a deep breath. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Captain Jack Harkness.”

If the stranger hadn’t been right about saving Dean, John would have hit him again. But he needed the help finding the succubus if he was going to make Dean all right again and so far Jack had wanted to help. Beggars and choosers. John clasped the other man’s hand and said, “John Winchester. And that’s Dean.”

\--- 

Jack grinned. After shaking hands with the gruff man, he slid his hands into his pants pockets and nodded over at the club. “I don’t think we’ll be getting back in there. She could still be hiding in there.”

“Would you recognize her?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “She's not a shapeshifter.”

“Get in the car. We’ll circle the block, find a decent place to wait. I’ve got a file on the girls working here,” John said.

“I adore a man who does his research,” Jack complimented as he swung open the passenger door of the Impala.

After they had climbed in, John said, “No funny business.”

Jack held his hands up in surrender.

Dean leaned forward from the back seat. Jack could still smell the alcohol on his breath with the hint of something else. Something dark and attractive. Instinctively, Jack inclined his head towards Dean a little. 

“What did I just get done saying?” John growled.

Jack’s gaze swept forward. “Sorry,” he managed. “I might’ve been more affected than I thought.”

“Dad, please, just five minutes? Okay? It’s all I need alone with him,” Dean begged.

“Do you have a gag?” John asked.

“Are you going to hit me if I say yes?” Jack countered. When John glared, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. From that he withdrew a ball gag. At John’s continued glare, Jack added, “I had to buy everything here. They frown if you fly with this stuff. I couldn’t afford to get caught up in customs and American officials don’t recognize Torchwood credentials, the cheeky assholes.”

“Torchwood?”

“Kind of my hunters’ club,” Jack explained.

“Dad, please, just a couple of minutes.”

John snatched the ball gag from Jack’s hand and held it up in the air. “Behave, or so help me, I’ll put this on you.”

“Asshole,” Dean hissed as he threw himself backwards.

John tossed the ball gag into Jack’s lap and started the Impala. They pulled out of the parking lot and Jack asked, “So, the file?”

“Glove compartment.”

Jack opened the compartment and a manila folder fell down into his hands. Darkness prevented him from seeing anything substantial. He searched a pocket and pulled out his flashlight. “I’m surprised the girls gave this much up,” Jack remarked.

“They didn’t. I’ve been snooping the last few days.”

“And not answering your damn phone,” Dean barked. “Again.”

“Is that what brought you out here?” John demanded.

“Yeah. I wanted to find out if you were dead or not.”

“Well I’m fine. Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

John stared straight out at the road. Jack knew that expression. He used it himself far too often. John was guarding his feelings. “Did you tell him what you were doing?”

“No.”

“So he has no idea where you are?”

Silence from the backseat finally.

“Damn it Dean!” John snapped. “What if he goes back to the motel?”

“He’ll probably assume I went to hustle since you left us without enough cash,” Dean replied with the same heat in his voice.

Jack raised an eyebrow at the word hustle.

“Pool,” John said to Jack. “He hustles pool when they run out of money.”

“Except for that time in Omaha, sure,” Dean said roughly.

Now the front of the car became icy silent. Jack flipped through the pictures and found the one who matched the alien he’d been chasing. Before he could interrupt with the good news, John asked, “What do you mean?”

Father and son chat time. Jack felt distinctly like a third wheel.

“I mean I got paid to screw some middle-aged chick.” Dean gave a dry, half-manic laugh. “Where did you think I got all that money? She offered eight hundred dollars, Dad. I couldn’t turn it down.”

John’s grip became white on the steering wheel even as he pulled to a stop not far from the club. He switched off the car and the headlights before turning to face Dean. “You should have called me.”

“I did,” Dean snapped. “You didn’t pick up.”

“Bobby then.”

“Guess what? Bobby didn’t have the money either,” Dean replied. “Someone had to provide for Sammy and eight hundred dollars went a long way.”

John turned back around and Jack saw the wounded pride. Jack felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. Deadbeat father out of necessity, not choice, Jack had endured some pain of his own in that respect. As long as he lived--which was forever--Jack would remember Alice opening the door on her sixth birthday and asking, “Who are you?” If he could be there for his daughter, he would be, but being close to Alice and her mother would defeat the purpose of putting them in witness protection. While Alice at least knew who he was now, they didn’t have frequent family gatherings. Hell, Jack couldn’t even talk to her on the phone.

Whatever reason John had for leaving his sons, Jack hoped the man could appreciate having them close by. Dean obviously cared enough about his father’s welfare to get reckless with his own safety. Enough about his brother to put his happiness above his own. Dean seemed like a good kid. Jack hoped John knew that.

“I found her,” Jack said. “Actually, you did, but this is her.” He showed John the photograph.

Having something to focus on drew John out of his own mind. He studied the photograph and then looked at his watch. “We don’t have forever.”

Jack glanced back at Dean. Sort of a mistake since the young man still had his cock out in the open air. On the leather seat like that, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling, Jack could imagine a few wonderful things. Dean had spirit, recklessness, pretty green eyes, and all the energy of youth. Even with his hands bound, Jack pictured that Dean wouldn’t have any trouble enjoying himself. Jack could just slip back there and make Dean more comfortable. Lay him on his back and tug those jeans all the way off…

Something cold and wet hit Jack’s crotch and he jumped. The file scattered to the floor. John gave him a weary stare as he took a drink from his water bottle. “Should I offer to dilute the venom a bit more for you?” he asked hotly. 

Jack flushed and picked up the file, shoving it back into the glove compartment. “Sorry.”

“Look at him like that again and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Understood, sir,” Jack said with respect. He could relate to a father’s protective instincts. Alice wasn’t too much older than Dean, she was twenty-three, and he’d prefer if strangers didn’t ogle her while she was chemically impaired. Given a reverse on their situations, Jack would gladly kick John’s ass a couple of times. “Eyes forward.”

“What?” Dean asked a little breathlessly. “If he wants to fuck me he can. I’m good with that.”

“Shut up, Dean,” both men said—John with an air of fatherly command and Jack with a desperate plea of his own. Jack was struggling enough to keep his libido in check. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start staring at John that way and wouldn’t that make tonight’s awkwardness complete?

After a half hour of waiting, during which Dean managed to keep his pleas and swears to a minimum, John asked, “Is this going to damage him?”

“Technically it’s constant stimulation, so everything should stay in working order,” Jack said.

“Wait, my junk could stop working?” Dean demanded.

“He just said it wouldn’t. Pipe down,” John replied.

Dean groaned. “This is freaking awesome.”

“Is ganking her going to end the effect?” John continued.

“I don’t know. If it doesn't, my people should find some kind of antidote.”

"Your people?" John scratched the stubble along his jaw. "Torchwood?"

"Right."

"You're hunters."

"Alien hunters, really."

Another fifteen minutes of agonizing silence passed. Jack’s thoughts wandered. He could hear Dean breathing in the back. Little pants. The Impala smelled of leather and of men. Both really good smells. Jack closed his eyes partially.

John started the Impala again. “There she is,” he said.

Jack’s attention fell back to the hunt. “Good,” he managed.

\--- 

John followed the succubus’s car at a good distance. This wasn’t the first time he’d tracked a thing back to its lair, but this hunt was making him uneasy. Besides the strangeness of Jack and his son begging to get fucked by another man, John didn’t like that Sammy had been left alone. Didn’t Dean realize that Yellow-Eyes could come back for Sam? One of John’s worse nightmares, besides reliving Mary’s death, was that Sam wasn’t safe. 

The sooner this hunt was over, the better. 

So John was elated to see that they had to leave the city. Out in the country, he could fire a shotgun as much as he liked without anyone questioning it and calling the cops. Having more options meant he’d have a better chance of outright killing this thing.

“Dean?” John asked since he hadn’t heard from the boy in a bit.

“Oh my God, can’t I even have a fantasy without you interrupting me tonight?” Dean demanded.

Jack chuckled at that. Smug son of a bitch.

“Is it about him?” John retorted.

“None of your damn business,” Dean replied.

“Hey,” Jack interrupted, “be nicer to your dad.”

John almost swerved off the road at that. He hadn’t expected the stranger to come to his defense. Everyone had a surprise for him that night.

When he had to turn onto a gravel road, John killed the headlights and trusted moonlight to guide him the rest of the way. The Impala would make some noise, but it was the best he could do to ensure an element of surprise. Finally, they rolled up and could see a country house with the succubus’s car outside. John stopped the car. “I’ve got supplies in the trunk.” He turned. “Dean, stay here. And don’t touch yourself.”

Dean slammed his head back against the Impala’s back seat and groaned in pain.

John and Jack got out of the car. Jack’s eyes got wide at seeing the arsenal John had hidden in the Impala. “You make a profession out of this?” Jack asked.

“I’m hunting a certain son of a bitch that murdered my wife,” John said. The old bitterness came to his voice. “I just kill any monster that gets in my way.”

“How long?”

“Fifteen years.” John loaded up a shotgun and shoved a pistol into the back of his belt.

Jack took another shotgun and reached inside his jacket to undo a holster on a weapon. He took a knife, too, and slipped it into his belt. “I hope you get him,” Jack said. He glanced up at the house. “How do you want to tackle this?”

“Sweep the ground floor, go from there,” John suggested.

Jack nodded. “You go in the front and I’ll take it from the back?”

John rolled his eyes.

“Bad choice of words,” Jack agreed. 

“It’ll work though. Let’s go.”

\--- 

Dean sighed and closed his eyes again. He couldn’t shake that feeling from his mind. His legs straddling Jack, hands in the man’s dark hair, and that gasp. The ache between his legs had persisted and the agony was driving Dean straight up the wall. If Dad hadn’t ordered him to stay put, Dean would have slipped his cuffed hands down and had some fun with himself.

The door of the Impala suddenly swung open. Dean opened his mouth to yell at his father again, except his father wasn’t the one at the door. A beautiful black-haired blue-eyed woman gazed in at him. Dean promptly shut his mouth and she giggled at him. “Poor boy. Left all tied up and on his own?”

She pulled back the seat and then reached in for him. Dean had a feeling he ought to fight her, but he was looking to get any relief in his arms or down below. She was careful not to touch his sensitive cock. Instead, once she had him outside the car, she spun him around and toyed with his cuffs.

“I could break these,” she murmured.

“Please,” Dean begged.

She spun him back around again and he almost lost his balance. She pressed her lips to his. Dean eagerly let her inside. Her tongue tasted of cherry. Dean moaned and pushed his body up against hers.

She shoved him back and his ass hit the side of the Impala. With a playful grin on her lips, she put her finger to his to silence any complaints. “I’ll let you go, but you have to promise me you’ll go find Jack. He’s the one you want, isn’t he?”

Dean was breathless, so he nodded for a response.

“Good boy,” she purred. She reached around behind him and snapped the link in the cuffs.

Stumbling, Dean made his way up into the house. The front door had been left wide open. Walking became hard and Dean had to lean against the wall. Dust covered everything in here. The air smelled old. He made his way through the living room to the kitchen.

Jack had the double barrel of a shotgun pointed at Dean’s face as he came around that corner. “Damn it Dean!” Jack hissed while he snapped the gun away. “What are you--”

Dean didn’t wait for Jack to finish. He looped an arm around the other man to steady himself and kissed him. Jack stiffened and tried to resist for a second. Then he melted into the kiss. Their kiss was raw and needy. Dean’s legs threatened to give out and he fell against Jack’s hard chest. Jack drew him in, spun them around in the kitchen, and then lifted Dean up onto the kitchen table.

Fuck, Jack was a great kisser. Dean couldn’t keep up and tilted his head. So Jack assaulted his neck with more kisses and his hands ran over Dean’s body. Every touch sent an electric wave of pleasure through Dean. A little more contact, and he’d come before Jack even stripped him.

A loud thud served as little more than a momentary distraction. Dean thought he saw Dad lying out on the floor of the living room.

The woman came to the kitchen doorway. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. 

Something was wrong here, Dean tried to tell himself. Jack’s lips on his throat didn’t help his thinking. Dean reached down and tugged up Jack’s shirt. Jack dropped the coat to the ground and for the first time, Dean saw Jack’s holster. Weapon cleared, ready for combat.

“Dean, be a good boy and enjoy yourself,” the woman murmured.

Sounded like such a good idea. But something was wrong. Dad and Jack had worried over him finding any kind of release. Mentioned something about hunting and following a woman. He was slow sometimes, but he wasn’t a moron.

Fuck, was Jack good with his tongue. Dean panted and wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders. He groaned. Every fiber wanted to keep going. To find out how good Jack was.

And that small part of his mind that was a trained hunter screamed warnings at him.

Dean snuck his right arm around Jack’s waist, touching him and drawing him close. The woman smiled. Jack moaned.

Then Dean grabbed the pistol from Jack’s holster and shot the bitch between the eyes.

She dropped, blue fluid flowing everywhere, glassy eyes staring up, and stayed down.

Immediately, Dean could feel the driving need subside. Whatever had Jack revved up to 11 had simmered too. Jack glanced over his shoulder and panted, “Good. Fixed then. Back to normal.” He nodded and drew back.

Dean caught the front of Jack’s shirt in his left hand. “Wait,” he said breathlessly.

“Dean,” Jack whispered. “Spell’s broken.”

“Can’t I get one honest kiss?” Dean asked.

Jack reached up and lightly brushed a piece of Dean’s hair. “When you’re older.”

Dean met Jack’s gaze and held it when he said, “I’m old enough.”

Something in his eyes must have changed Jack’s mind. Jack cupped his cheek and smiled. “Okay.” Then he leaned in.

Dean had expected the raw passion from before. Instead this kiss was slow, gentle. It reminded him of lazy summer nights sprawled in the grass staring at the stars. Warm, happy moments. Dean closed his eyes and didn’t care that after all the kissing that night this one still felt somehow like a genuine first kiss. He felt fluttery and loved. As the kiss ended, Dean was pretty sure he’d made that last emotion up in his head. 

The look in Jack’s eye said something else. It was insane, it was stupid, and it was naïve—or at least that’s what Dean would convince himself of later—but he was pretty sure that Jack Harkness did love him in that moment.

Dad groaned in the other room and suddenly both Dean and Jack were like teenagers about to be caught with their pants down. Actually, Dean was a teenager with his pants half-way down, so it was less of an analogy and more of a truth. They managed to get everything back in its proper place—Dean even got that damn ring off his dick and back to Jack’s pocket—before Dad pushed himself up off the floor.

“Dean, what did I tell you?” Dad said with a glare.

Dean’s throat threatened to close up at the sound of anger in his father’s voice. He was one rolling disappointment after another tonight.

“She must have let him free,” Jack interrupted, pointing down at the creature. “If it wasn’t for him, she would have gotten me.”

Dad rubbed a spot on his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Saved the day.”

Dean tried not to flush at the compliment. He preoccupied himself by checking over the shotgun Jack had left behind.

“Thought you were sex-crazed,” Dad murmured.

“I’m trained better than that when danger comes,” Dean said nonchalantly. He forced a smile.

Dad beamed a smile back at him.

So Dean vowed to himself never to tell Dad that it was Bobby’s voice he’d heard shouting warnings about the situation. “What’re we going to do with the body?” Dean asked.

Jack glanced around. “Shame about this house. Drafty. Abandoned. Dry. Old.”

“Probably go up like a match,” Dad agreed. “Let’s get to it.”

Two hours later, they left the burning house behind. They dropped Jack off at the strip club where he’d left his car. As Jack walked away, coat billowing in the night air, Dean almost chased after him. Begged him to take him along. For a few seconds, Jack had made Dean the most important person in the world. Not Sam, not Mom, not Dad. Not for the sake of Sam, Mom, or Dad. He’d been important to someone all on his own.

Then he thought of how heartbroken Sammy would be if he was just gone, and Dean climbed into the front seat.

They had a good hour drive ahead of them and Dean wasn’t that eager for alone time with his father. He switched the cassette player to one of his dad’s favorites, but John snapped the radio off after only a few seconds. Dean tried not to audibly gulp.

“You remember everything you said?” Dad asked.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied. He danced his fingers around the door lock.

“Dean, we haven’t been in Omaha for almost two years.”

“Two years, three months, six days,” Dean said mechanically. “That’s how long ago.”

Dean waited while John did the math. Then came the response he knew he’d hear, “Christ, Dean, you weren’t even seventeen yet.”

“Four days out.”

“Bobby should have given it to you,” John griped. “Wait until I--”

“Bobby had sent you everything he could,” Dean snapped. “And Bobby doesn’t know what I did. Sam doesn’t have a clue either.”

“That the only time you resorted to it?” John asked.

“Yeah.” Dean stared out the window and wished he could go back a few hours. Back to the kitchen with Jack’s arms around him. An illusion of security, sure, but he wouldn’t mind a few more seconds of magic before reality crashed through the walls of his happiness.

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the car’s cabin and Dean waited on edge for the next question.

“And Jack… was he the first man you,” John floundered for words. “Is that the first guy you liked?”

“I’m not gay,” Dean said quickly.

John seemed to let out a sigh of relief.

“Would it be a problem if I was?” Dean demanded hotly.

John stiffened again. “No, son. But I’ve seen you go with plenty of girls. I’d be surprised, that’s all.”

Dean wanted to call John a liar, but that was probably his own testiness. He slumped down in the seat again and continued staring out the window. 

“Let’s not tell Sam or anyone else for that matter about this. I’m barely going to put notes on the thing in the journal. I’ll be happier if we forget this night ever happened.”

The look in Jack’s eyes after the kiss haunted Dean’s mind. Jack didn’t know him; he couldn’t have loved him that fast. Nonsense kid stuff to think he had. “Right,” Dean muttered. “Me too.”

\--- 

Sam had had to wash his hair three times to get the mud out of it after the Battle for Moondor. Both brothers had had too much fun that afternoon. Of course they’d kicked ass—even though Dean had ‘lost’ an arm in battle, something of which he’d boasted for the next two hours—and they’d been celebrated warriors of Charlie’s. Pizza had come after with Charlie and the other warriors, and while the good day had turned into a good evening, Sam wasn’t willing to let the night slide back into a depressing mood for himself or for Dean. After Amelia, after Benny and Cas, they could use more than just a good afternoon. And what the hell, Sam still felt like being among people for once instead of sulking in the motel room.

So after they’d cleaned up, Sam had suggested a bar. Dean had hesitated for about a minute before agreeing and recommended texting Charlie. Charlie had come along too, and now the three of them sat at a table in a bar.

“Okay, but you have to agree that the special effects were good for their time,” Charlie argued over the third beer. “But what they can do now is amazing.”

“Dude, before computers, special effects were an art,” Dean debated. “There isn’t beating the original Star Wars in effects. Ever. No computer can ever make up for it.”

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes while Charlie tried to find a way around the statement for the third time. A man entered the bar and Sam’s eyes were drawn over to him. He was tall—though not as tall as Sam (who was?)—and dark haired. What struck Sam the most was the man’s long grey-blue greatcoat. Military, era World War II if Sam had it correct.

“Guys, check him out,” Sam said and nodded at the door.

Charlie let out a disgusted sigh at the idea of checking out a man, but turned so she could see the newcomer. As she glanced back at the table, she gave a ‘not bad’ frown and said, “Period military. Not one of ours. Actually, I don’t think anyone local is participating in that. Unless he’s here for the conspiracy nutjobs.” Charlie continued to stammer, “Not that conspiracy guys are that nuts really, given that most of the things they claim are true are actually true somewhere.”

“He dresses like that all the time,” Dean said.

That made Sam and Charlie whip their gazes over to him. “You know him?” Sam asked, maybe a bit too loud.

“I, uh, met him a few years back,” Dean said. He hid a small smile while took a sip of beer.

Charlie punched Dean’s arm. “Go say hi.”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied and fidgeted with his beer.

The man in question saw their little table and his gaze definitely lingered on Dean. Charlie picked up on it first and swatted Dean’s arm again. “He’s onto you. Now you’ve got to go say something.”

“You hitting me isn’t helping,” Dean said. “You’re making it obvious.”

“I know, isn’t that great?” Charlie nodded at the man. “Go get ‘im.”

Dean glanced at Sam for back up. Sam raised his hands in surrender and said, “I’m with her. If you know him, go say hi.”

Dean finished his beer and then sighed. “Okay,” he said, more to himself. He left the table and went to the bar.

Sam and Charlie watched. Charlie had a kind of creepy smile going. “Did I miss something?” Sam asked.

“He knows him,” Charlie replied with even more mischief.

“Dean’s met a lot of people,” Sam said.

“He was blushing, Sam. Don’t be a total ignora-moose. Your brother is way into that guy.”

Sam gave Charlie a skeptical look, but she didn’t alter her perception any. So Sam glanced over at his brother and the man. He happened to look in time to see Dean and the man shake hands. Dean leaned against the bar and talked for a minute. Okay, so Sam would have to agree with part of Charlie’s assessment. Dean definitely had that, ‘I’m happy to see you’ vibe going. Not too many people from their past warranted that kind of happy enthusiasm. 

“I didn’t think he was into guys,” Sam said. “I mean, he and Cas are close, but I figured that was a guardian angel kind of thing.”

“Movie star good looks, nice smile,” Charlie shrugged. “Objectively, he’s a very handsome guy. Your brother could choose worse.”

Sam chose to drink his beer instead of make a remark. Just as he worried that they’d been ditched in pursuit of getting into the guy's pants, Dean stepped away from the bar and the man followed him back to the table. “This is my brother Sam, and this is our friend Charlie,” Dean said by way of introductions. “This is Jack Harkness.”

Jack shook Charlie’s hand and then Sam’s. He had a firm, warm grip. Sam was still overcoming shock and trying to figure out what to think. Maybe they’d been wrong. Maybe nothing had happened between Jack and his brother. 

Jack took off his coat, draped it over a chair, and then settled into a seat. Dean had already reclaimed his seat as well. Charlie glanced between both men, and with a joyful give-me-secrets air, asked, “So, Dean told us he knows you. How?”

“Dean saved my life about, what was it, fifteen years ago?” Jack said.

“Just about,” Dean agreed. “Though you don’t look like you aged a day.”

“Maybe you remember me older than I was,” Jack suggested.

“I don’t remember that hunt,” Sam said.

“Because you weren’t there. You were at some friend’s place. Manny, I think.”

“Danny,” Sam said automatically.

“Right. Danny.” Dean took a long drink of his beer.

Charlie wasn’t content without the full story. “Saved your life from what?”

Jack looked at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and said, “Succubus.”

“Alien succubus,” Jack corrected.

“A succubus from space?” Charlie repeated. When Jack nodded, she added, “So cool. Was she hot?”

Jack laughed. “I guess so.”

“Well come on, spill the rest of the details,” Charlie begged.

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance. Sam knew what it meant. It was one of those ‘I’ve had a secret and I don’t want things to worsen between us again when you find out.’ Sam had been seeing that look a lot lately. 

Dean had gotten excited about seeing this guy again. After fifteen years, the guy could make Dean smile in two seconds flat. And Dean hadn’t done a lot of smiling lately. So Sam swallowed down another drink, and leaned forward on the table. “Okay, so how did you two end up crossing paths chasing an alien succubus?”

“I’d followed the thing from Cardiff,” Jack began, “to a strip club in North Carolina.”

“Dad had been missing a few days, so I went to a club I’d given him the address for,” Dean supplied. “Had to use one of my fake ids.”

“How old were you?” Jack asked.

With a small blush and a proud air, Dean admitted, “Nineteen.”

Jack laughed loudly, in good spirits, and said, “No wonder your dad clocked me.”

“Wait, Dad was there?” Sam demanded.

“Decide who the narrator is and let them tell the story,” Charlie said. “You have until I get back with the next round to decide.”

Dean rose with her. “I’ll help.”

“I can manage.”

“But I’ll pay.”

Charlie smiled up at Dean. “Excellent call. You can come.”

Sam was left at the table with Jack. When they were out of earshot, Sam leaned forward and asked, “Does this story include sleeping with my brother?”

Jack blinked. “Uh, no. Would it matter if it did?”

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean looked happy and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He wondered whether it did matter if Dean liked guys instead. Well, guys in addition to women, Sam corrected in his head. After all that time with Lisa and the string of women Dean had left behind, and of course the busty Asian magazines, Sam knew his brother appreciated women in a complete sense. Guys too? Did it matter?

“Naw,” Sam decided. “Guess it wouldn’t. But it’s nice to warn a guy if you’re going to tell a story where you get full frontal with his brother.”

“Oh, his pants still came down,” Jack said with a measure of glee in his voice.

Before Sam could ask any more questions, Charlie and Dean were back. “Okay, I’m telling it,” Dean said as he set down the drinks. After he settled into his chair again, Dean continued, “So Dad wasn’t picking up his cell and Sammy was staying the night at a friend’s place…”


End file.
